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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27863617">insisting that the world keep turning our way</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippuri/pseuds/pippuri'>pippuri</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Pre-Canon, i think i write this precanon snapshots for Me and No One Else and honestly im happy w that!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:53:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27863617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippuri/pseuds/pippuri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>sam seems happy to sprawl out in the backseat while dad's driving, with whatever book his last school assigned, or sit in the passenger seat and give you shitty, out-of-date directions based on the old maps dad keeps in the glove compartment. you let him drive for little stretches sometimes in the middle of farmland, but he doesn’t really seem to do it for any reason other than to give you a break on whatever cross-country trip you’re on that week. </p><p>//</p><p>sam &amp; dean &amp; driving</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>insisting that the world keep turning our way</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this has existed rent free in my mind and decided to write it .... thinking about dean teaching sam how to drive .. and breaking down</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You spend Sam’s sixteenth birthday in the hospital, sleeping in a hard, plastic chair next to his bed. He had spent the entire hunt bitching about his AP US History test he had on Monday morning, and if you weren’t back in time, he would have wasted $55 and an entire year of his life. It was mid-“<em> Dean </em>, I don’t think there’s anything here” that the ghost had got the jump on him, throwing him across the room with a sickening crunch. </p><p>The doctor said it was four broken ribs and a collapsed lung, and that he was lucky you had gotten there when you did. Dad left to finish the hunt once he heard Sam was going to be okay but you—you spend the next three days uncomfortably folded into the molded plastic chair, watching Sam breathe in and out, loopy from whatever pain meds they’ve got him on. </p><p>Halfway through the second day, he wakes up and mumbles something to you, clumsily trying to pull the tube out of his chest. </p><p>“Happy sweet sixteen, Sammy,” you say brightly, and he makes a sound that would probably be a laugh if his ribs weren’t cracked. </p><p>“My test,” he slurs, and you gently push him back into the bed. </p><p>“Called your school, told ‘em you were in the hospital. They’re letting you do it next week.” </p><p>It’s not until a few weeks later, when you’re already three states over, Sam complaining in equal measure about being unable to breathe properly and the fact that he couldn’t leave a forwarding address for his test scores to be sent to, that you bother listening to the messages on your phone. It’s almost all missed calls from the Virginia DMV, reminding you to please reschedule the written exam for Samuel Winchester and in the future to cancel appointments with at least 48 hours notice. </p><p>You let him drive for about fifteen minutes outside of Buffalo, and figure that’s just as good as driver’s ed. </p><p>/</p><p>Sam just shrugs when you remind him he’s gotta get his license, and groans, “Jesus Christ, Dean, stop fucking nagging me,” so you drop it. It’s not like he doesn’t know <em> how </em> to drive, he’s driven you or Dad or whatever hunter you’re working with that week to the hospital more times than you can count, as soon as his feet could reach the pedals, and he’s got a fake ID you gave him that says his name is Sam Harrison and he’s 21 and from Topeka, Kansas. You know he only uses it to get into college libraries, but you made it so it said he was 21 just in case. </p><p>Anyways, he seems happy to sprawl out in the backseat while Dad’s driving, with whatever book his last school assigned, or sit in the passenger seat and give you shitty, out-of-date directions based on the old maps Dad keeps in the glove compartment. You let him drive for little stretches sometimes in the middle of farmland, but he doesn’t really seem to do it for any reason other than to give you a break on whatever cross-country trip you’re on that week. </p><p>You feel bad about it, when Sam’s school starts back up, and you and Dad go on hunts, leaving Sam alone in some motel room, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You bring it up once, and he looks at you like he’s trying not to laugh. </p><p>“Where would I go, Dean? It’s not like I’ve got <em> friends </em> here or anything. I can run to school, Dad said that that counts for PT,” and for the whole hunt, you can’t shake the image of Sam, running alone in the dark with his stupid backpack.  </p><p>/</p><p>November of his senior year, right around when you had dropped out for good, he asks you to teach him how to drive. Dad’s off, investigating rumors of a monster murdering new mothers in southern California, and left you with Sam in a rundown apartment in Ohio that belonged to some hunter that owed Dad one. Sam looks nervous when he asks, and he can’t quite look you in the eyes. Like he’s got a secret. </p><p>It’s probably a girl, you realize, some girl at school he wants to impress, probably using <em> your </em> car. <em> Finally</em>, you think, because Dad’s been asking you pointed questions about Sam and his lack of a romantic life whenever you’re alone, and you’d be lying if you said it hadn’t started to make you wonder too. </p><p>“Got a girlfriend finally, Sammy?” and he rolls his eyes at you. </p><p>“Gonna teach me or not?” He finally looks you in the eyes, but something’s still not quite right. You shake it off—Sam could never hide anything from you.</p><p>You’d never admit it to him, not in a million years and on threat of death, but you secretly like it. Like that this is something <em> normal </em> you can show him how to do, that you can snap at him <em> Stop riding the goddamn clutch, Sam</em>, and it’s got nothing to do how to clean a gun or what bullets to use for which monster. He’s not an awful driver, and you’re already thinking of how you can swing getting him a shitty truck for his graduation, like Dad gave you the Impala when you got your GED. Maybe if you pick up the overnight shift in the diner, and find a pool hall far enough away that no one will recognize you. </p><p>/</p><p>Sam, of course, had a secret. He leaves with an already packed bag, his shiny new license in his wallet, Dad screaming at him long after the door slammed shut. </p><p>You find the financial aid application crumpled in the bottom of Sam’s extra duffle the next night. Sam’s girly cursive declaring that he is an unaccompanied minor at risk of homelessness, a letter from his last school district attesting to said fact and adding that he’s on the caseload for the social worker who deals with homeless kids, and a xerox of his license. The picture’s grainy and overexposed, but you carefully fold it up and slip it into your back pocket. Dad’ll never know the role you played in Sam’s abandonment if you play your cards right but: you will.</p><p>You always will. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>as Literally always thank you bry for reading this and encouraging me to write it even tho it's not "long" or w/e ... thank you for having the exact same supernatural thoughts</p></blockquote></div></div>
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